


Little Boy, Be A Man

by KingCroweOfCamelot



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcoholism, Friendly Neighbourhood Cop Javert, Kidnapping, Les Amis as Primary School kids, M/M, Murder, OCD, Physical Abuse, Rape, Teacher Valjean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 01:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4081624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingCroweOfCamelot/pseuds/KingCroweOfCamelot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Javert's got problems, and they're not going to go away.</p><p>Valjean, a primary school teacher, is determined to fix that when he ends up falling head over heels for the stoic cop that came into school to do an assembly on "Stranger Danger".</p><p>But the pupils in Valjean's class, especially the group who call themselves "Les Amis", aren't content with sitting by while their best friend, Grantaire, has been kidnapped.</p><p>(I suck at writing summaries sorry!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This is Javert's childhood)

She was doing all she could for her kids.

Pregnant at fifteen wasn't the best situation to be in, and living with an abusive boyfriend, Thibaut, didn't help. He was ten years older than her and a cocaine user, but he had money from his stealing and smuggling ring, and he could support her and the unborn child now that her parents had kicked her out.

Félix was born in the back room of a crack den. His introduction to the world consisted of a scratchy towel and a blanket made of dirty bed linen.

Garon was born two years later in a grimy bath tub. He wasn't meant to survive. She had been told that they didn't have enough money for another baby, especially after the recent police arrests around the estate that meant Thibaut had to lie low for a while. For the past weeks he'd come home with nothing and they'd have to go hungry.

When they'd grown up, she sent her kids off to school in the neatest clothes she could afford. They were tough kids even though they were young. But they had to be. 

Thibaut hurt her. When he was angry, she'd bear the brunt of it. When he was drunk, she'd be on the receiving end. When he had a weapon, she'd feel it. She didn't have a choice. He kept her, beat her, constantly reminding her what she'd be without him - homeless, lost and destitute. Some days she'd be too black and blue to walk her children to school otherwise the neighbors would notice and she couldn't risk her boyfriend getting into trouble, so Félix and Garon would stay at home. The school began to notice their unexplained absences and began involving the social services. Félix turned up to school, dragging a half asleep brother, both with bruises over their cheek bones and black eyes. The teachers acted immediately. Social service workers and police arrived at their house that day although they had no evidence to make any arrests - they were taken away and put into care.

She was devestated. She was doing all she could for her kids.

 

Five Years Later

 

Félix and Garon walked through the door of a cleaner, newer house followed by a tidy looking care worker. She stood in the hallway greeting her sons with open arms. She was 27 but had the looks of a 40 year old - thin hair tied back and bags under her eyes with scars of the past littered across her features. She gazed at her sons. Félix was twelve, with short spikey hair and a cheeky smile. Garon was ten and he had floppy hair, wide eyes and a kind face. They all shared the same dark tan skin tone. 

After the paperwork, she showed them around the house, leading them upstairs where the boys had a shared room. It was bigger and cleaner than their room in the last house. They looked at their new beds, side by side, but their attention was drawn to a third bed- nothing more than a mattress and blankets tucked away under the little window in the corner.

"I was meant to move them," she blurted out hurriedly before Félix could say anything, "You two get comfortable, I'll go and make tea." She scooped up the blankets and the thin mattress and heaved them downstairs as the two children looked at her confused. 

At night, the boys cuddled up together on Garon's bed. They were woken around midnight by three timid knocks on the door. Their heads jolted towards the door as it slowly creaked open. A small boy who's head reached the door handle stood in the corridor waiting to come in.

"Do you know where maman left my bed?"

 

Two Years Later

 

"I'm here for just a routine inspection," the woman at the door said, "To see how Félix and Gary are getting on, that's all."

Thibaut nodded and showed her in. He turned his head towards the stairs. "Babe! The social worker's here!" He bellowed before leading her into the sitting room. There was a sudden scuffling from upstairs, and then silence.

Félix trotted down the stairs, holding onto the door frame and swinging into the lounge to greet the social worker with a smile. She stood up and grinned. "Félix Javert!" she beamed, grinning from ear to ear, "You've grown so much!" They hugged briefly before sitting down and beginning a conversation. Garon came downstairs not long after and joined in, with a smile to match the one on his brothers face.

Then came their mum, her face coated in a layer of foundation that covered a nasty bruise. She sat down next to Garon and put her arm round him.

Upstairs, the third brother crouched quietly against a wall. He didn't have a name - not a proper one like Félix or Garon on a certificate. People just called him by his last name. People just called him Javert. Nobody was meant to know he was even alive, because his mother didn't want him to be taken away, so she had him at home and she kept him there. But now he was 7 the novelty of a secret child had worn off. She had a job so he stayed at home alone. He wanted to go to school like Félix and Garon but he wasn't allowed. He only got to go outside at night when his father took him out, which wasn't fun at all. He would storm up to him and drag him out the back because they didn't want other people on the estate to see. Then he would be hit and beaten until he could barely move, but he'd be made to walk. They'd walk and walk until they reached the back road on the rich part of town where not many people went. And then his dad would do his job and they'd get loads of money. It would hurt him, and he'd cry and moan, but his father had to take him because Félix and Garon would be taken away again if they were hurt. 

Javert knew that the lady would take him away if she saw him. He also knew that his father would be especially nasty if he went downstairs now, so he stayed where he was. It was the best he could do to keep his mother happy and his father calm.

 

By the time the lady had left, it was dark outside. He heard the door slam shut but didn't dare move until he had been given the all clear. Garon came upstairs moments later, spotting Javert hunched over in the room. "It's alright, she's gone." He said, offering his hand out. Javert looked up at his brother smiling kindly down at him. "Come on, Maman's made tea." 

 

Thibaut stormed into the lounge where the boys sat cross legged on the floor eating from the plates on their laps. His face was dark, as if he'd just received bad news, and his voice trembled menacingly as he spoke. "Javert," he began, rolling his sleeves up and fixing Javert with a threatening stare, "We need to go out. Now."

He reached out and grabbed Javert's shirt, dragging him away from his brothers. He pulled him through the kitchen as his mother stood by the stove, unable to say anything. He kicked the back door open and picked him up, carrying him out to the back alley. They locked eyes, Javert's gaze pleading and Thibaut's gaze uncaring. He raised his fist. Javert winced as it collided with his temple, falling to the ground and scraping his knee. The steel capped boot collided with his back and he collapsed on his front, letting out a cry. He staggered to his feet only to be kicked again, his face grazing across the rough pavement. Beeds of blood formed at his forehead and brows as streams of crimson trickled down his chin. He grabbed the hair on the back of his head and held him at eye level. He drew back his fist and plummeted it into the boy's cheekbone. He cried out loud, gasping for breath as tears mingled with blood and his vision went blurry.

"Hold still." He snarled, tightening his grip on the back of his head until his nails dug into his skin.

"Papa, stop..." Javert pleaded, his voice cracking, "Papa please..." 

"I said hold still."

Javert closed his eyes and braced for impact.

 

They'd reached the back road and Javert knew what was coming next. His little limbs were bruised and his face was throbbing. They were sat by the side of the road waiting for a car to drive by pass in the freezing cold. Thibaut had been kind enough to hand over his jacket so Javert didn't die of hypothermia,  although he definitely felt like he wouldn't make it through the night- jacket or not. 

The blinking lights of a car shone as it came round the bend, approaching the stretch that they sat on. Thibaut got to his feet, waving at the car like a madman, clutching Javert's arm and hoisting him up. The car began to slow, and the driver rolled down his window. This is where the act starts, Javert thought to himself. Thibaut began talking to the driver in a frantic voice,  painting worry and panic across his face with the skills of a professional. 

"Mate, please help us!" He practically shouted, heaving Javert into his arms and cradling him as if he were a baby, "We were on our way home... They just came out of nowhere!" His face was plastered with fake emotion, using his free hand to cup his son's bruised forehead. "Please, they attacked us - My son's badly hurt."

The driver was a kind looking older man, clearly well off by the look of his shiny car, and he immediately stepped out, expressing his concern at the injured child, and walking round to open the door to give them a lift. But his kindness was wasted. Thibaut threw Javert to the ground, his head colliding with the ground with an almighty thud. The driver turned round and Thibaut's fist slammed into his face, sending him flying back onto the floor. He kicked at him hard as he yelled out, bringing his arms to his face for what little protection he could muster. One kick to the head sent blood spilling over the road and one stamp on the neck created a grisly crack that echoed across the empty highway. Javert sat up, crimson red dribbling down from the impact wound just below his hair line. His mouth gaped open and his eyes widened as the image of the lifeless old man burned his brain. He watched as his father rolled the body down the banking into the shrubs by the side of the road. He sat, shaking from the cold and the shock. 

"Get in the car, Javert." Thibaut murmured, staring at the spot where the concealed carcass lay, "Now. Quick. We're done here."

The little boy wiped the blood from his head with the back of his hand. Tears began to swell in his bruised eyes as his bust lip started to tremble.

"Be a man, Javert. Cry quietly." 

And with that, Javert clambered into the car as his father got in the front seat and began to drive away.

 

"That car's worth twice your offer!" Thibaut protested, "You've got to give me better than that!"

"I'm not budging on price, Monsieur Javert. An offer is an offer." The other man replied indignantly. He was a creep of a man, with midlength greasy hair that he tucked behind his ears and a toothless grin that sent shivers down the scariest man's spine. He used his grubby hand to wipe his snivelling nose and fixed little Javert with a longing gaze that made his eyes look like they were melting in his head. "We have a deal." He smirked, the phlegm in his throat making his words thick and dense, "You bring the cars and I don't ask questions."

"I need you to reconsider." Thibaut insisted, "Me and my girlfriend have started using again," he scratched at the needle wounds on his forearm, "We owe a certain group some money and we need to feed our kids."

No reply.

"Those men are monsters and they'll cause me and you trouble if I don't pay them soon, you know that. This is a good car. Just cough it up."

"How much do you owe?" He asked as his glassy eyes brightened up.

"About a thousand more than you're offering me at the minute!" 

The man sniggered, diverting his gaze back to Javert. The boy hated the way he looked at him - it made his feel uncomfortable and unsafe inside. He stepped behind his father, peering out from behind his legs. it wasn't often that Javert sought his father's protection, but this man made him want to run away and hide. "You know what I want," he said, his voice making Javert cringe, "I can get the thousand for you if you leave me and your son alone for about ten minutes." Javert shook his head, grasping onto his father's trousers and hiding further behind him.

"You fucking paedophile! He's my son! He's seven!" 

"You're not going to have a son if you don't pay this money back, are you?" The man snarled, giving a wide toothless grimace. "I'll get you a cup of tea. I won't take long and I'm sure it won't hurt." He crouched down on his knees so he was at Javert's eye level. He offered his hand out to the boy.

Javert felt sick in his stomach. "P-Papa?" He said softly, clutching onto his trousers harder, "Papa..." 

"I want two thousand for this."

There was a slight silence. "Deal." The man mumbled, not breaking the gaze at Javert. "Come on, little boy. Come with me."

"Papa please," he whimpered, turning his head away from the man.

"Go on, Javert. Just go with him."

The greasy man lurched forward, wrapping his bony fingers around Javert's arm. He flinched away, trying to resist by moving closer to his father. But the greasy man was too strong and Javert was too tired and weak to put up much of a fight. He clung on to his father tighter and tighter as he felt the cold fingers of the man creep up his body like vines as he twisted his arms and peeled his fingers away from the trousers. Javert let out a cry as he felt his body being lifted up. He called out to his father, who stood there silently, bowing his head. He called out to his mother, but she was miles away and probably tucked up with his brothers in bed. He felt his back being laid against a bed, and he felt the bony hands twist him round on his front. He cried out to Félix as he felt his clothes being pulled away from his body and he screamed out to Garon as his kicks and feeble thrashing was subdued by icy fingers. He wailed to the God he had heard stories about as his small body went numb and he felt the weight of the adult lowering against him. He clenched his eyes shut as a warm liquid filled him and he heard the man behind him gasp. He was silent - unable to move. And then it was over as quickly as it had started and the greasy man had walked away from him. He stayed absolutely still as he heard the man leave the room and the distant mumblings of his father's voice. He felt blood seep from his raw and red anus and the silent tears streaming from his face as he began to sob hideously,  shaking from head to toe as he clutched at his brain and begged for the pain to end. He didn't understand what had just happened to him. It seemed like he was lying there for days before his father came in, dressed him hurriedly and carried him out.

"I'm sorry, Javert. But that had to happen." 

Thibaut carried him without question- he hardly expected that the kid could walk. Javert lay in his arms, expressionless, but trembling slightly. His eyes were fixed open and wide with shock. 

They were almost home when Thibaut spotted an officer further down the street. Panic hit him. He was carrying an almost dead child who he'd just allowed to be raped in return for cash to pay off his drug dealers, and this was a child that didn't even have a birth certificate or a name and who'd witnessed a murder that he committed so he could steal the victim's car and sell it to a paedophilic trader. And the cop was getting closer and closer with every minute. He carried on walking, trying to look as normal and innocent as a guilty man could. The cop passed him, giving him a funny look.

"You're out late," he remarked as he stopped next to Thibaut and removed his hat, "Why are you carrying a kid?"

"He's mine." Thibaut replied too quickly, blurting out his words, "We stayed late at the park and he fell asleep on the way home. That's all."

The cop lifted one eyebrow and scratched his wiry beard. "The park's that way," he said, pointing in the opposite direction, "It's one in the morning."

Alarm bells started ringing in Thibaut's head.

"Jesus Christ," the officer said as he peered closer at Javert's wounded face,  "He looks in a bad way! What the hell happened there?"

Thibaut stuttered.

"You better start explaining yourself, mate." The cop demanded, his face darkening, "Because it looks to me like something has been happening here that shouldn't have happened at all."

 

 

At the station, the same cop sat in a room with Javert and a child psychologist on soft seats facing each other. 

"What's your name, kid?" The officer asked softly, giving Javert a kind smile.

"I don't have one. I'm not allowed." Javert replied, his voice barely a whisper. 

The officer chuckled slightly. "Everyone's got a name, kid! I'm called Castor, and I'm named after a star in the constellation of Gemini."

Javert lifted his eyes, "I've never heard of that."

"Oh you should have!" Castor grinned, "The stars are wonderful! You can only see them on crystal clear nights, but they're always there." He beamed as he saw Javert's little face light up. "You can see them out of this window, look," he said, pointing at the window in the far wall of the room, "Would you like me to lift you up so you can see?"

Javert nodded politely and stood up to climb on to the officer's shoulders. Castor walked to the window and the psychologist followed behind. "What's that mark on your trousers?" They asked, a hesitant element to their voice. Javert turned his head and looked at the psychologist. "From where the greasy man made me bleed." 

The psychologist creased their brow. "What did the greasy man do to you?" They asked quietly.

And Javert told them every thing that had happened that night. And they listened in shock. But he refused to get down from Castor's shoulders at any point because he wanted to see the stars.


	2. Stranger Danger

The staff room of the school was small, a bit smelly and too cramped for Javert's liking. It had the stench of tired teachers, worn out by children running circles round them, living off coffee and cake. He had spotted two such victims of the teaching profession, one looked barely thirty but burdened with years of tiny temper tantrums, and the other was well past retirement age but presumably couldn't live of her measly pension, judging by the hairs on her skirt, she had a lot of cats to feed.

Javert had always been an observational man. He'd honed in on his skills during his police academy training and now he had wits as sharp as the tip of a pencil, although evidently not the kind of pencils used at this school, judging by the thick handwriting on memos hanging up on all four walls.

He leant back in the chair he had been allocated and propped his head up with his outstretched arms. He took out a silver hipflask from his overcoat pocket and took a swig - he'd definitely need one right now. He thought about putting his feet up on the coffee table in front of him, but a bell rang to signal lunch time and teachers began to file into the staffroom one by one. The first one who came in was a young woman, probably an assistant teacher, judging by her misplaced enthusiasm. She greeted Javert with a smile and a wave and turned the kettle on.

"Cup of tea?" She asked with a beam.

"Coffee, if that's all right." He replied, scratching his greying beard. She nodded in reply and got out the cups.

Next in through the door were three women, most likely middle aged, and gossiping at a furious pace. One of them took a look at Javert and turned to the others and said something that was apparently funny, as the rest of the gaggle stifled giggles.

"Milk or sugar?" The enthusiastic girl called over the sound of the boiling kettle and the giggles.

"No, I take it black, thanks." He answered so she could hear. She nodded again, turning back to the kettle.

One of the middle agers turned to the others. "Just like I take my men!" She cackled, and they all erupted into hysterics.

The next to enter was a man, tall standing and athletic, wearing green trainers and shorts and a polo shirt, probably head of P.E, or at least enthusiastic about it. He walked over to the girl who was making Javert's coffee and cuddled her from behind and she responded with an affectionate squeal. Javert rolled his eyes. He couldn't bear to see couples. It was so infuriating and aggravating. Especially young couples.

Three more came through the door, the thirty year old, the cat lady and the receptionist, all looking exhausted. "Who's on playground duty today?" One of them asked, but nobody replied. More and more teachers piled in until Javert was sure that the room was going to run out of oxygen. Ten minutes later, his coffee arrived at the table in front of him almost freezing cold. The enthusiastic girl and her enthusiastic boyfriend had been too busy snogging their faces off to remember the poor old Inspector in the corner, dying of caffeine deficiency. He sat there, slurping at the disappointing brew and reading the notices on the notice board. 

**MISSING: YOUNG BOY, BLACK CURLY HAIR**

Javert sighed. This was his case. The recent kidnaps in this area was what he was working on at the moment, and the reason he was coming in to speak to these kids. The boy who had gone missing went to this school and was kidnapped just outside the gates. He looked back at the poster and squinted at the picture underneath the title. A young boy, around seven gazed at the camera, a naughty grin plastered across his face. Javert chuckled slightly. He could see this kid causing trouble for the police in the future. He squinted again, reading the details. His name was something Grantaire,  but he couldn't for the life of him read what the poster said his first name was and they only dealt with last names at the precinct. Maybe it was about time he invested in some glasses.

He was interrupted from his wondering by the presence of a tall man sat beside him. He turned and faced the man, who wore a neat suit and a generous smile. The man held out his hand. "Inspector Javert," he began, "It's an honour to have you here."

Javert shook his hand and returned the smile with a slight upturn of the corner of his mouth. "The honour is all mine." He replied. 

"I'm M. Bérnárd, Deputy Head here." He said with an air of pride, "I trust you are comfortable? " 

"Of course," Javert said, sensing the pride and judging him for it, "My coffee was cold though."

Bérnárd laughed, although Javert hadn't meant it as a joke, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you ready for the assembly?" He asked.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

 

 

Javert was stood in front of around four hundred kids, ranging from four and five year old to ten and eleven. It was terrifying. All along the sides of the hall sat the teachers, and Javert recognised all of them from the staff room. He was suddenly overcome by a wall of nerves, and desperately wished he could have a swig from his hipflask. He was fine in front of a dozen murderous criminals, he knew that, but for some reason the prospect of all the little faces staring at him was incredibly unnerving. It reminded him of his primary school experience. Joining when he was 8 after intensive private tutoring to teach him how to read and write because he'd missed the first years of it, living in a care home and the fact he had only ever had contact with two other children - his brothers- turned him into the freak of his class, and not someone who people wanted to be friends with. He could remember the brutal treatment and isola-

"Good afternoon everybody! " called the headmistress, awakening Javert from his reminiscing. 

"GOOD AFTERNOON MADAME MARTIN!" screeched the children in a creepy monotone unison. 

Mme. Martin looked very pleased with herself as she held the attention of every child in the room, her plump frame looming over the children from her position on the stage. She introduced Javert in such a theatrical way that he felt like she expected him to launch into a musical number as he stepped forward, beginning his presentation.

"Right, so I'm here to talk about something very important and very serious that has happened recently. Basically, " he began, scanning the sea of infant faces to check he still had their attention, "As you may know," he started to scan the faces of the teachers in the crowd, spotting several he knew, "One of your friends has gone missing," Cat lady was sat at the back with the older kids, "And we at the police station are doing everything we can," Bérnárd was right at the front, "But we need all of you to help us as well," he spotted a new face, one that hadn't been in the staffroom, "And we need all of you to act sensible," he looked at the New Face, taking in his rugged features, "Erm..." the New Face had spotted Javert too, "Er..." he turned back to the crowd quickly, "I have a video - who wants to watch the video?"

The hall erupted in a chorus of yes' and sounds of agreement and Javert could sense the love these kids had for videos. He turned to Mme. Martin, who signalled to Bérnárd, who stood up and took the DVD from him and began to work it. He went and sat down on a chair by Martin herself as the video began. Now the attention was away from him for a while, he reached back into his overcoat pocket and took out the hipflask, taking two huge swigs as quickly as he could before shoving it back in. He looked around. Everyone seemed transfixed with the video, so he doubted anyone had seen him, even the teachers were enjoying it.

**¡¡¡!!!!!StRaNgEr DaNgEr!!!!¡!!**

The DVD screamed,

**¿??¿¿Do YoU rEaLlY kNoW wHo YoU'rE tAlKiNg ToOoOoOo????¿?¿¿€??**

Javert took another look around. Everyone was staring at the big screen. Except the New Face on the other side of the hall. Who was staring right back at him. Javert blushed. He'd probably seen him take the swigs and he was probably judging him. Javert looked away. He didn't want it to look like he was staring. 

There were some action packed montages flashing across the screen and a woman with a tight bun reading out a list of facts. These videos always captured the kids.

After five minutes,  it began to draw to a close.

**sO rEmEmBeR nExT tImE yOu'Re OuT**

**StAy AwAy FrOm**

**!!!¡¡¡↑¡!¡¡StRaNgEr DaNgEr!!!#!!/¡!!]!!**

The credits began to role across the screen and the kids all clapped. Some even whistled. Javert stood up and went back to center stage. "Thank you for watching that," he said, shifting slightly under all the keen eyes watching him, including the piercing green eyes of the New Face, "I hope you all learnt something..." he made brief eye contact with the cat lady, "And if you ever see someone that you feel is a threat or scaring you then you must go to your teacher or adult." 

The kids nodded and so did the cat lady.

"Erm... Any questions?" 

One hand, about halfway through the crowd shot up straight away. Javert pointed at the hand. "Yes, you there." A boy stood up, he must have been about seven, and he had locks of curly blonde hair, blue eyes and was the sort of boy that Javert could imagine being the heartthrob of the class. 

"I'm a bit confused," he started, "Is your fascist 'video' suggesting that I can't speak to anyone that I'm not on a first name basis with? What about you, Monsieur l'inspecteur, I don't know you! But you come here trying to restrict my basic human right of freedom of communication! Well I won't have it! Oink oink, you capitalist pig!" 

The hall burst out into laughter, not because the school kids understood what he was saying, but because they a found the pig part very funny. Javert stood in shock with his mouth gaping open, trying to comprehend the heap of political mayhem that had just spewed out of this seven year old's pursed lips.

Mme. Martin stood up, her frame trembling with rage. "ENJOLRAS!" She screeched and the hall fell silent, "MY OFFICE, STRAIGHT AFTER SCHOOL!" The blonde boy sat back down, all his friends reaching and patting him on the back. "I'm so sorry, Inspector, do carry on."

Javert stood for a while, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly until he found his words. "Any more questions?"

A hand rose from the very front. "Inspector, Monsieur," a timid little girl said, "Do you have a gun, Monsieur? " 

Javert smirked. "Yes, but it's only for emergencies." He could feel all of the kids looking at him in awe now.

"Can we see?" One called from the back, "Please Monsieur?"

Javert reached into his overcoat, and pulled out his pistol. "Here," he said, checking the safety catch was on before holding it aloft. All the kids gasped and gaped and he could tell he was impressing them

"Do you have handcuffs, Inspector?" Asked the cat lady in what seemed like an attempt at a seductive tone. There was a short moment of silence, especially amongst the staff while Javert blushed. "Erm..." 

Martin stood up. "Does anyone have any questions about what the Inspector has been talking out today?"

Another hand rose from around the same area as the blonde boy. "Where's Grantaire?" A little spectacled boy asked with brown floppy hair asked cautiously, "Do you know?"

"Erm, no, we don't know exactly," Javert said, trying to make his voice as compassionate as possible, "We want everyone to know that we're working very hard and we will find him." He spoke out to all of the children, "That's why I'm here today, to try and stop this from happening to anyone else." He felt the New Face staring at him, "So that's why it's very important." 

 

 

Back in the staff room, Javert was sat alone. All the teachers had taken their classes back to their rooms to end of the day before letting them out at home time. He was waiting for Martin or Bérnárd to get here so he could thank them. He looked around, and there was nobody in sight. He took out the flask again and took one slow swig, followed by two quicker sips and then put it away. A bell rang,  signalling the end of school, so Javert sat up straight and straightened his tie. The first to enter the staff room was cat lady. She spotted Javert in the corner and swanned up to him.

"It was a great assembly Monsieur, " she said, leaning forwards and fluttering her eyes. Javert got a huge whiff of cabbage and cat food. "Sooo informative." She drawled, smiling at him lovingly and showing an array of yellow mishmash teeth. Javert grimaced and thanked her briefly, but she refused to let him go. "Just stay a while," she insisted, putting her hand forward as if to stop him, but he sidestepped her and headed straight for the exit. He'd just head to Martin's office. He walked towards the door, and just as he was about to turn the handle it opened other side and he was suddenly an inch away from New Face. Javert blushed. He was bad with intimate situations and didn't like getting this close to anybody. New Face was definitely a lot more muscular up close, and slightly threatening. And he smelt of Colonge. And bread. And a strange smell of-

New Face held his hand out. "Monsieur Madeleine," He smiled, "It's a pleasure to meet you,  Inspector."

Javert looked at him. New Face was taller than him, with a head of brown hair and a pair of sideburns that any man would be proud of. He looked at the hand he was offering. It was huge. Javert took a step back and shook it, expecting his hand to be crushed, but his shake was surprisingly tentative. "Nice to meet you too, Monsieur." He said hurriedly, took his hand away, and carried on through the door.


	3. His Vices

His hipflask was empty and his mouth was dry. He bit his lower lip and rubbed his sweaty palms on his trousers.

Javert entered the precinct through the main doors, nodding at his colleagues stood in the foyer and reception area. Walking with his head held high, he relished in the unspoken authority that he carried in these halls. The stench of justice hung thick in the air, and it was almost calming for the Inspector. Almost. Displays about crime rates hung on the walls of the spotless corridors and a few new constables frantically raced around, the pressure of their new jobs finally settling in.

"Alright, Inspector?" called a voice from down the hallway. Javert turned to have a look at who it was. A short woman stood in the middle of the corridor smirking from ear to ear. "Have fun at school?" she mocked, practically spitting her words.

He faced her, throwing a brief sarcastic smile. "It was a delight, Véva," he said through pressed lips, giving her a glare, "And how is your son? Still in jail?"

Véva's face darkened as she crinkled her nose. Snorting loudly, she shook her head. "He's doing great, Gaston, unlike you."

Javert growled. "My name's not Gaston-"

" 'Gaston' Javert," she mused, looking up at the ceiling with her hand on her chin pretending to think, "It suits you. Like Gaston, off beauty and the beast."

"I don't have to listen to you," he snapped, folding his arms, scowling.

Véva stepped closer to him, and held her nose aloft. Her nostrils flared as she sharply inhaled. "Hm... You're smoking again, are you?" she jeered, twisting the corner of her mouth upwards into a sarcastic smirk, "I thought you'd quit."

Javert swallowed sharply, the odor of his last fag still in his mouth. "And you're sleeping with the one of the lawyers across the road again, are you? I can tell because of creases in your jacket," he said, pointing, "It looks like you've been bent over a desk recently."

Her eyes widened and she stepped back in shock, taking a few moments to compose herself, before huffing rather loudly. 

"I win." he smirked, and strode off towards his office.

 

A big wooden desk sat in the corner of the square room with a computer in the center and rows of files and paperwork stacked meticulously on small shelves, a black leather chair tucked underneath it and a telephone on the side connected to the wall. An empty cup littered with the remains of an instant coffee sat by the papers and there was a fling cabinet tucked away under the window. The answerphone was beeping. Javert got out the little keys from his back pocket and knelt down to the bottom draw, pulling it and watching it open. The tentatively stood bottles rattled slightly as the drawer moved. Plucking the fullest bottle, he sighed, unscrewing the cap and plonking it onto his desk. The sloshing liquid seemed to stir something in Javert. Retrieving his flask, he poured a dash of the port into his mouth and then into the flask itself, filling it to the top and flipping the lid closed and placing it back into his overcoat which he hung on the left peg- the right one was reserved for his old hat from when he had been an officer. He felt the liquid trickle down his throat- it would've burned his skin but he was used to it. Briefly, he closed his eyes before moving to sit in the chair. The flashing button on the answerphone caught his eye so he reached over to press it and listened to the messages.

The robotic voice echoed around the room, obnoxiously proclaiming the date and time that the message was left before exiting with a resounding beep as the message began.

"Hi, Javert," a familiar voice said, although it was scratchy through the speakers, "It's Gary, just checking up on you." 

Javert rolled his eyes, and took another swig from the bottle.

"Me and Félix are a bit worried, it's been weeks since you last contacted us... We're here for you, we always have been and we always will be." there was a crackly pause, "Maman is ill and she's been asking for you so I'd just like to let you know now that we do want you to come up and see us. My kids would love to see their uncle as well- I was thinking maybe visit us in their summer holidays?" There was another pause as Javert took a gulp.

"I... We..." Garon stuttered slightly, coughing on the other end of the receiver, "We wanted to know how you got on at rehab, if it actua-"

Javert lurched forwards and slammed his hand down on the answer phone, interrupting his brother and cutting him off. Face flushing bright red, he hurriedly screwed the lid back on the bottle and placed it into the open draw as to not disturb the other bottles. He spluttered slightly, kicking the draw shut.

"Message deleted." The robotic lady screeched as she began to introduce the next message.

Garon was stupid. Félix was wrong. How could they be so insistent that he had a problem when he had a completely successful career? He was the most feared Inspector in the region. They were just jealous of him. He had many things; a flat, a dog, an office, a phone, a notebook, a pen; but a drinking problem was not one. He was a fully functional member of society, and his brothers packing him off to rehab was not only ludicrous but a sheer embarrassment. And Garon didn't understand why he was reluctant to stay in touch? What did he expect?! A fully h-

"Hello Inspector, it's Monsieur Madeleine here from M sur M Primary School," the answerphone said, the voice of the teacher still sounding silky, despite the tinny crackling of the speakers.

"New Face," Javert smiled.

"Just ringing to let you know that I found your notebook in the staff room this morning, so I'm guessing it's been here all night. I'll drop it off at the station on the way home then..." There was a pause filled with the sound of people, particularly children chattering in the background. The man on the other end cleared his throat and resumed, "Right, okay... Bye then."

Javert furrowed his brow. He was sure that he'd put his book in his overcoat. Frowning, he was sure that he'd put his book in his overcoat. Narrowing his eyes, he lifted the coat from the pegs and stuck his hand into the biggest pocket. Empty. He plunged into the second, pulled out a handful of receipts and tossed them onto his desk. He zipped open the inside pocket and felt around in the folds of the fabric. The smooth plastic of his lighter brushed against his skin as he wrapped his fingers around a leather-bound rectangle. He smiled. The New Face must be wrong - he'd found his notebook in his coat. He pulled it out. "Ah, fuck," he cursed under his breath, grumbling to himself. The leather rectangle was his wallet. He dumped it back into his coat, and sat back down at his desk, confronted by a handful of receipts

It was as if a finger had reached out and clawed at his brain when he saw the crumpled papers. The sensation was strong, burning within him, an impulse he just couldn't ignore. He stared at the pile as if daring it to move until he couldn't take the sight of the mess anymore. The top draw of the filing cabinet swung open with ease as he pulled it, and it was full of alphabetically arranged grey files and papers, separated by labeled dividers. He used one hand to take a file from the second division and the other to begin straightening the creases in the receipts. They needed to be flat. He wouldn't stand for dog-eared bits of paper in his office. 

A knock on the door send a heartbeat jumping into Javert's throat. He swung round, eyes still wide, and faced who ever it was. Stood by the door was a younger sergeant, with a bright face and young features. "Didn't mean to make you jump, Chief," he said warily, looking at Javert, trying to gauge if he would attack, "It's just the Superintendent has called a team meeting for those working on the kidnapping case."

Javert scowled - he didn't have time for this. "What, now?" he snapped, glaring from under his furrowed brow.

"Yes, Chief," he replied, "The Superintendent's in the meeting room now, and he said it's urgent." The sergeant didn't wait for Javert to reply before adding in another comment, "Don't shoot the messenger, Chief." 

"That fucking Superintendent has his head stuck up his fucking arse." he growled, grabbing his overcoat and standing up. Gesturing to the door, he waited for the sergeant to leave before following turning round only to lock his office.

 

The city clock chimed five and the precinct was suddenly full of energy. Javert was certainly ready to go home. Today was his short day, his shift ending at five rather than nine. Obviously, most days he'd stay later than nine, working into the night until he had done all his assignments. But today he couldn't wait to leave, having sat for multiple hours listening to the Superintendent prattling on about what the action plan was for tomorrow. He hadn't even gone back to his office, but instead had strode rather furiously through the corridors, overcoat under his arm. The foyer was full of officers coming and going, some shifts had just ended, and some shifts only just beginning. He didn't have to fight through the people, all he had to do was glare and grumble and they would automatically get out of his way. 

A familiar voice called from behind the reception desk. Véva. "Gaston! This gentleman here has got something of yours."

Javert swung round to face the desk. "Véva, for the fortieth fucking time, it's not Gaston," he growled, shooting her an icy glance before turning to face the supposed 'gentleman'. Lent against the desk was a tall man that Javert instantly recognized from the school. New Face. "Monsieur Madeleine," he noted, nodding his head slightly.

New Face smiled and nodded back. "I've got your notebook, Inspector," he said warmly with a twinkle in his eyes, "Hope you didn't need it that badly or I would've brought it earlier!" 

Javert twitched the corner of his mouth in an attempt of a smile. "Thanks for bringing it." He reached out and took the notebook from the man's outstretched hand, the tips of his fingers brushing slightly against New Face's rough palm. He withdrew his hand immediately and shoved the book into his coat. "I better be going." 

He turned on his heel and was about to stride off when New Face's hand clamped around his arm. Javert's eyes widened. Even through the fabric of his shirt, he could feel the warmth radiating from it and the rises and falls in the skin. New Face held on firmly but not strongly, just enough so that Javert couldn't brush it off. 

"The whole reason I came in person was to ask you something," Madeleine said, a hidden tinge of desperation in his words, "I need to know how close you are to finding Grantaire," 

Javert swung round. "It's classified, alright? I'll let you know if there is any significant progress but I can't just blurt out police secrets." 

Madeleine nodded.

"Now I'd appreciate it if you would stop manhandling me, sir."

Javert shook himself free and walked out the double doors.

 

 

 

Javert's flat was nothing flashy- one bedroom, one bathroom and an open plan kitchen-dining room-lounge. The walls were white and bare, bar the few pictures that hung in the lounge, and the furniture was either grey or blue. Everything was meticulously in place, not a crumb was astray.

He walked through the door, clicking it shut behind, and was greeted with his usual welcome.

A big alsatian lifted his head from his paws on hearing the keys turn in the lock. He clambered wearily to his feet, slightly stiff from age but still enthusiastic and excited about his master's return. He bounded as quick as he could to the door, his mouth wide open in a smile with his tongue hanging out. He still had the poise of a police dog and the keen glint in his eyes, even though he was enjoying retirement just as much as his working days. 

He barked at Javert,  shaking his thick brown coat and furiously pumping his tail. Javert grinned to himself, bending down and ruffling the dog's ears. "Come on, Castor," he called as he straightened up and headed to the kitchen. Castor followed at heel, padding across the floor with his worn feet.

He plucked a bottle of wine from the rack and opened it in the blink of an eye. Not even bothering to get a glass, he went over to the lounge and flopped on the sofa. Castor struggled to jump up, but with a bit of help he managed to clamber on. He curled up next to his master and closed his eyes.


	4. At The Inn

A silent haze filled the courtroom as the judge pounded his gravel and declared his verdict. Flickering emotions of relief and satisfaction fluttered across the otherwise stoic jury and audience. Standing up to protest, the guilty defendant realized the severity of his fate and opened his mouth to protest - his words fell upon deaf ears. The court members began to file out, picking up documents, notes and evidence. A few chatted as they left, complaining how life imprisonment wasn't enough for the despicable excuse of a human being that had been tried today. Before long, the court was deserted and the criminal was carted out by two bailiffs. 

Officer Castor Frerand left the witness stand, lingering only to smirk upon the convicted man being dragged away. He had testified about what he saw without hesitation, and had agreed to provide a second testimony to confirm the words of the child. It was a lot of work and effort, but it meant that the father of Javert would be put away for good and the kid would never be hurt again. He would see to it personally. 

The lobby was crowded with members of the jury and audience bustling around and congratulating the prosecution. Long frrown sofas lined the heaving room with potted plants decorating the corners . Layers of noise cascaded over each other, clunking of the aircon, whirring of engines from cars outside, whistling of wind swirling through the partially open windows. Castor weaved his way through the clumps of people. A young woman, one of the jury, nodded at him as he passed her, smiling in appreciation of his efforts. Beside her, an old lady stood hunched over, her wrinkled hands covering her face, trying to conceal her tears. It was her husband who Thibaut had murdered and her car that he had stolen. To stare the man in the face while listening to his list of crimes had been too much for her. Castor diverted his attention to the far side of the lobby, peering through a cluster of men and catching a glimpse of a small boy sat on the sofa. 

The boy was perched on the seat, trembling slightly and watching the crowd with an avid interest. He'd never seen so many people before. Wide eyed and alert, his mop of unkempt hair barely covered the bruises and cuts healing on his forehead. Although he was seven, he looked at less than five - tiny framed and timid, jerky movements. 

Castor caught his wandering glance and called out to him. "Javert!" He shouted, parting his frown to reveal his teeth in a warm smile.

The little boy's face immediately lit up. He laughed slightly, and grinned in return, trying to mimic Castor's toothy smile.

Castor approached, twisting past one or two jury members to greet the boy. "Javert, you look funny when you smile like that," he chuckled, reaching to ruffle his hair affectionately.

"I'm like you, Castor!" Javert replied, bearing all his teeth "See! I look like you." 

The man grinned. "You look more like a tiger, kid." He scratched at his beard and nodded at the child support officer sat by the boy.

"Let's head off then," the support officer said, taking Javert's hand and standing up.

"Can I hold Castor's hand instead?" Javert asked, looking up with pleading puppy eyes while reaching over to his hero. Castor smiled and held the little boy's hand, contently smiling when he felt the little fingers wrap around his own.

 

 

 

Three armed officers sat in the back of a cramped police van, waiting for their call to action. Detective Chief Inspector Javert stood by his car parked nearby. Two Sergeants clambered out of another police vehicle slightly further down the road. Their target was clocked, an infamous inn, practically overflowing with criminal activity and hopefully the captive site of a one young Grantaire. Javert took the lead, bending his neck slightly and talking into the walkie talkie to relay the message that they were beginning the search of the premises. His footsteps were drumbeats. He fumbled with his already empty hipflask. The other detectives followed at close quarters. He knocked without hesitation. No answer. He wrapped his gloved hand round the hilt of his gun and knocked again. No answer.

"Police, open up!" He called, icy determination set on his face, signalling to his fellow detectives.

No answer.

"If this door isn't open in five, we will use force!"

No answer.

"Five!"

"Four!"

"Three!"

"TWO!"

"O-"

The door swung open. A tall, gangly man stood in the frame, leaning cockily to the side. A splatter of wiry ginger hair framed his gormless face and an admirals hat was balanced precariously on his head. Thénardier. "No need to shout, dear Inspector," he grinned, revealing a stinking cesspit of a mouth, complete with reeking breath that wafted towards them.

Javert gave the man an almighty glare, clenching his jaw and releasing his grip on the gun. 

"However can I help you, my friend?" Thénardier teased, raising an eyebrow and daring the Inspector.

"Don't call me 'friend', Thénardier - you know why we're here." Javert growled, "We've got a search warrant for your premises."

"And what are you hoping to find?" called a voice from down the corridor. A gaunt woman, the owner of the voice, appeared in the door way. She looked Javert up and down with her two beady eyes, raising an eyebrow slightly. "I haven't cleaned, but you're more than welcome to come in." 

If Javert could've left, he would've, but he had work to do. He twitched his nose and strode through the door. 

There was a short porch like area which the officers passed through before it opened out into a pub, the walls lined with damp wallpaper peeling away. The carpet was musky and squelched as the three walked across it. Thénardier tried to sprint round the officers, darting infront of Javert. 

"A drink, Inspector?"

Javert ground his teeth together. "Just get out of my way," he snarled in a tone that even Thénardier didn't dare challenge.

The team of three decided to split up, the two sergeants going separate ways into the kitchen and the basement. Javert headed upstairs to the rooms.

 

Four men were huddled in the smallest of the inn rooms, having hidden themselves away there as soon as they noticed the police cars pulling up at the curbs. One murmured quietly to the rest, hatching a plan. He was small, and thin build, wearing a baggy scuffed waistcoat and formal trousers, clearly trying but failing to make a fashion statement. The three listening varied drastically in appearance - one was built like a Greek god, burly and broad, with a shining bald head and equally shining gold teeth cluttering his mouth, which hung open dumbfounded. The second was hugely tall but lanky and had an aloof air about him, the third was much smaller and face seemed shrouded in constant mystery.

"Shut the fuck up Claquesous," one of them snapped, while the others hushed him hurriedly. 

"Piss off, Babet, or I'll put you in the fucking ground." Claquesous replied, elbowing his neighbour in the ribs.

"For fuck sake, he's going to hear us!"

"Who?" 

"The Inspector, you dumb sack of shit Gueulemer, who else?"

"When did you start running the fucking show, Montparnasse?"

"If you want to-"

"I CAN HEAR FOOTSTEPS, HE'S COMING!" 

With that, the four stood up, shuffling into their agreed positions.

 

Javert was stood outside, hearing the scuttling and whispering despite their best efforts to be as quiet as possible. Instinctively, he gripped the gun, fumbling with the lid of his hip flask with his free hand while planning his move.

 

"He hasn't -"

"SHH!" 

 

Javert took a breif step back, before lifting his leg and kicking the door wide open. The four men were momentarily paralysed in shock, but knew exactly what to do as the Inspector stepped into the room. Javert strode forwards, turning his head to see round the damp wall. He crumpled to the floor instantly as a huge metal pipe collided with the front of his head.

Claquesous stared at the body on the floor. "In the name of God almighty, who the fuck gave Gueulemer a weapon?"

 

 

 

 

Steady beeping filled Javert's blurry head. His vision was shrouded in black, pulsating circles of vivid green and blue swam across the forefront of his mind. He could feel a bulge on his forehead - it was hot and throbbing, just above his left eye. He couldn't think clearly, he didn't want to open his eyes.  He was wrapped in white hospital sheets still in his uniform, a white cold towel being pressed repeatedly against his burning head. There was someone sat next to him on a plastic chair.

Drifting in and out of consciousness was becoming a regular thing for Javert, although usually it was alone in his flat. This time though was much different - there was pain when he was conscious and it felt like a steel hand, pushing hard on his face until he blacked out again, as a pose to the numbness that the alcohol brought.

When he finally did open his eyes, the crystal white of the hospital ward was like a blinding light, making him wince and shut his eyes tightly and feel like he never wanted to open them again. He felt the towel on his head, the water dribbling down his brow.

"It's alright," said the person in the chair next to him, starling Javert slightly, "There's no rush."

Javert's non-affected eyebrow creased in confusion. He knew the voice. He'd heard it several times before. But he just couldn't place it. He decided he needed to see the person's face, just to find out who he was in such close quarters with.

"The doctor said you'd probably have concussion when you woke up, so if you feel disorientated, don't worry." The person reassured, their kind smile almost audible.

Javert managed to crack open an eye to peer out of, staring at the ceiling until he adjusted to the light. "H-how.." He stuttered, unable to properly comprehend what he wanted to say, "How long..." 

The person lifted the towel away. "You've been here for two hours, mainly unconcious," The person laughed softly, "They brought you straight from the inn when they found you."

Javert glanced over at the chair, but still couldn't make out the blurry figure. 

"You've got loyal sergeants. They were terrified, clearly look up to you. I was talking to one of-"

"Who are you?" Javert interrupted, not caring for the other man.

"Oh, ahah," the man chuckled, "I always babble to much, I'm sorry, it's Madeleine, we met at the school." 

"Madeleine?"

"Yeah, that's me."

"The fuck are you doing here?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally updated :) thanks for anyone still reading


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